Lanterns on Lake Pontchartrain
An Acadiana Transgender Story

-1-
Blue Bayou

My hometown of Blue Bayou, Louisiana is a small human settlement located on the marshy, reed and willow covered banks of Lake Pontchartrain. The village is located in the heart of what we Southern Louisianians call Acadiana Country. The population is small, with most of the business being located along the highway that runs through the center of town. Although the town does have a small, highly visited downtown area. Most of the businesses located on the highway are your average big chain stores. You know, Wendy's, McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, and of course your big box retail stores such as Dollar General, Wal-Mart, and Dollar Tree, my favorite place to eat Waffle House is located right on the Highway too.

Our downtown area is where you will find all your mom and pop owned stores. Stores that have been owned and operated by the same family since the town was founded and carved out of the surrounding swampland when the railroad finally came through this area following the American Civil War. Downtown is very charming. The streets like most southern towns are paved with bricks, a trolley runs from one end of the town to the other. Gas powered street lamps provided light on moonless nights. All of our town's celebrations and community events are hosted downtown.

Also our town's train station, a simple concrete platform with a roof and a bench is located downtown, and beside the highway it's the only link we have to the world outside this swampy region. It's here across from the train station and to the left side of the local Sonic that you will find a mom and pop grocery store that has been family owned and operated for more than sixty years.

And it's here at Sunflower Food Store is where I've worked for the past four years. I started working here when I first turned fourteen years old. My mom was good friends with the manager Mr. Carson and he decided to give me a shot, though he had his doubts. When I started here, I started off at the bottom of the ladder. I started off at the bottom of the ladder as what they call in the business an 'Curiosity Clerk' that is what they call the guy that stands at the end of the checkout stand and puts your items brown paper bags as they are sent rolling down the conveyor belt.

The job was simple enough. I would with nimble fingers reach up, pick the glass jars of pickles, and tin cans of cut green beans, and soft loafs of bread and put them nice and neat in brown paper bags. I would then rush out in the subtropical heat to load the items up in the trunk of waiting cars, Being awarded a dollar or two for my efforts. Then while I was out there I would gather up a few stray shopping carts and push them up front to where the shopping carts were kept.

Our shopping carts were these old school beasts. Made of cast aluminum these heavy metals could take one hell of a beating and keep on rolling. If you pushed five or six of these buggers together and trust me it was hell to get them rolling, but once you got them rolling it was like trying to control I got a damn freight train with a dog collar. And I'm going to this, once they got rolling real good it was hard to stop them. They did not stop on a dime or turn on a nickel.

Anyway at the end of my first year I was 'Promoted' if you can call that from being an 'Curiosity Clerk' to an 'Lead Curiosity Clerk' that is the guy who is supposed to train the other guys. The promotion came with a small pump in pay and allowed me to get the max number of hours allowed. A year or later I was 'Promoted' again from 'Lead Curiosity Clerk' to 'Stock Clerk' that came with another small bump in pay and finally allowed me to work a full forty hour shift each week that summer.

Last year, four years into my retail career and I'd just finished High School and wondering what direction I wanted to take my life, I received another promotion. Well it was not a promotion in the true sense of the word. I just switched fields, I was transferred from the Grocery side of the store to the Produce side. And given the new title of 'Produce Clerk' cause I came from the Grocery side. I was given yet another small bump in pay.

Now our Produce Department has three guys working in it. And the third guy one afternoon decided enough was enough to decide to quit on the spot. I mean the guy dropped his vest right there on the sales floor and stormed right out of the sliding doors into the bright sunshine. No two week notice, no warning, just up and gone like a fart in the wind. And so they threw me into fire. And that is what I do now, I work around five days a week, including Sundays.

Most of the time I come in at one in the afternoon and stay till around eight that night or sometimes nine when the store closes. I cull the department, that is removing all the smelly, mold encrusted produce two first shift guys overlook, fill up the sales items, fill up the stables for tomorrow, you know cabbage, lettuce, and cucumbers. I make sure the greens are iced down with chipped ice.

Collard, Kale, Turnip, and Mustard Greens are real big sellers down here. But you gotta keep them iced down, keep them crisp and extend their life. Or so I've been told by my boss. I don't question the wisdom behind it. I just do as I'm told.

And finally at the end of the working day or night I spray down the concrete floor with tepid water using an old as hell hose pipe that has been patched and patched again to hell and back and often leaks more water on the floor than it puts out. Yes, our store is so cheap they refuse to buy a new hosepipe. Anyway once you get the floor, nice and wet, you get a bottle of Dawn dishwashing liquid, the blue stuff we call it, squeeze a few drops or half a bottom the floor, then you get a good stiff broom and give the damn floor a good scrubbing. Then you spray it down again and you get a squeeze and get the water up and then you let the floor air dry overnight.

Sunday, though being the Sabbath day I get a bit of a break I normally work till around one in the afternoon. But I have to come in around five in the morning and work till one or even two. But normally I knock off when the other guy shows up and I've helped him get the department filled up again. When the local churches let out people come driving in here and though the 'Church Rush' as we call it only lasts about forty minutes or an hour at most. Those forty to sixty minutes are pure hell.

That produce section could picture perfect, like something you see on the cover of a magazine. And once the church rushed it, everything would be torn to hell and back. I mean that, people are bastards, and when it comes to produce everything has to be perfect. It is amazing how three to four hours of hard work can be undone in around an hour of crazed shopping.

Most of the time though I don't leave till nine when the store closes. I don't suppose getting that extra hour is going to anyone. For all this work. I'm paid the princely sum of twelve dollars an hour. And I have to say I've enjoyed working in the produce section the most. To me it's like working God's colors. Anyway I was on break at the time, now normally get a thirty minute break each shift, and on Sunday I get to take a full hour break.

This happens to be one such Sunday. I remembered I'd just finished eating a classic Southern Sunday lunch, the lunch today was dried out fried chicken with a seasoned crust that was hard enough one could have chipped a tooth on it. Anyway I'd picked the chicken clean. I mean only the bones remain and I'd just finished off my last swallow of RC cola. And now I was picking around the last few spotty remains of fried okra I had left on my styrofoam plate. Good thing about working later in the day shift was I got most of the deli I had left over from lunch at half price. And that suited my thrifty nature.

Anyway I was a fast eater with twenty minutes remaining on my break. I decided to browse a few of the blogs I follow on my phone. One of my favorites happens to be a blog called 'Country's Clean Caps' or as I liked to call it. C.C.C for short. Now I'd discovered 'Courtney's Clean Caps' around three years ago when I'd typed in the words 'Boys turned into Cheerleaders' into a Google search bar. I don't know what caused me to type those words into my Google browser that lazy afternoon. Looking back, I guess I was wrestling with some stuff. And well, boom the blog kind of fell out of the sky and into my lap.

If I can remember correctly I discovered C.C. C around the time I finally started growing my hair. For the first fourteen years of my life I'd worn my hair in a buzz cut, because that was the only style my former military dad would approve of. You see dad had left mom and I when I was fourteen years old. That had been around four or five years ago. When Dad was around all the time I'd been forced to keep my hair short, I'd always wanted to have long hair, and I detested having to have short hair anyway dad left mom and I and went to find work on the river to regain or rediscover his lost youth.

The last update I got from him was a year or so ago and that told us he was working the docks in either Rosedale, Vicksburg, Memphis, or riding the tug boats out of New Orleans. Anyway as I worked my way through C.C.C I discovered a section of the blog called “Courtney's top ten Transgender Stories” two of those stories just reached out and commanded my attention. The first one happen to be written by an author with the username Rasufelle, who wrote what I considered a classic of Transgender fiction, a novel length web novel titled 'Oh, Cheer' and another one was written by an author named Torey who's 'Switching Playing Fields' really inspired me. After reading those stories. I kind of wanted to try my hand at writing my own transgender character. I mean I'd been writing and posting stories online since I was fourteen years old. But most of those stories had been crap and I'd never achieved the level of internet fame I'd had aspired to.

Anyway as I had searched through that blog, I'd discovered a link to another site. One that was called 'Big Closet and it was like I'd stumbled across a hidden treasure trove. It was a story website that was devoted solely to TG ( Transgender) fiction. And well it was like a light switch had been flipped inside my head. I finally felt like I'd discovered an outlet for the stories I wanted to write. I remember I'd spent countless hours that summer reading stories housed on that site. In fact visiting had become part of my daily routine. But, fear held me back. I mean how could my stuff that at the best was Fanfiction.Net trash compete with the masterful works of prose of Rasufelle, Torey and the newest edition to the trinity of writers that I looked up to Emma Anne Tate! Thus fear, and my own self doubt seemed to hold me in a state of perpetual bondage.

Anyway I ramble.

Anyway my break was just about to come to an end. And I was just about to start the downward slide toward finishing out my day when my phone started to buzz. I could tell by the ring tone who it was, so without giving it a second though I reached down and accepted the ball. And accepting the call was more trouble than it was really worth. I had one of those new phones were had to swipe the green call button that appeared in the center of your screen to accept the call.

Once I had accepted the call I took a deep breath and softly intoned under my breath, 'Heat from fire, fire from heat' and once I found the right tone of voice I intoned it several more times in quick succession before finally working up the courage to say 'Hello'.

“Hello?” I said blushing at how light and airy my voice sounded. A pause followed, followed by a very confused person on the other end of the call saying.

“Oh! Hey! Sorry I must have gotten the wrong number! I was trying to call my cousin, but I must have gotten the wrong number! Sorry the jackass must have changed numbers on me without telling me.” A frantic female voice on the other said. I could picture her waving her arms around like a windmill as she spoke.

I giggled a little, my voice had indeed started to soften. If I could fool my cousin, who by all accounts was one my best and oldest friends, who had known me since boyhood, who had shared with me all manner of adventures. Then those painful hours I'd spent doing voice training must have really been paying off. I'd been doing the whole 'Heat from fire, fire from heat' thing over and over again. Because for one I'd always hated the way my voice sounded and detested the accent I'd been born with. Having been cursed from birth with a deep, southern accent people often mistook me for being dumber than a sock full of pebbles.

“Sorry about that cousin Jasmine.” I said blushing. “I just wanted to see if my new voice had fooled you any!” I said as I feel into a fit of girlish giggles.

“Sunny!” She scolded gently, “I should drive down to that store and beat y'all ass for that! For a moment I thought I thought I had gotten the wrong number and you had changed numbers without telling me. Lord boy I should have expected you to pull something like that. After all, I've known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper.” Jasmine took a deep breath and collected herself.

“Anyway, I was just calling you to see if you wanted to get together this afternoon. I'm in town, visiting with maw and paw. And I decided to give my favorite cousin a shout.” She said. “And thought about getting a bite to eat and catching up a bit before I gotta catch this evening train back into the city. Cause you know I can't stay out here in the country too long. Not safe for my kind.” Jasmine said, forcing herself to laugh a little. But there was no humor in her voice.

“Sure,” I paused. “I get off in about an hour or two. How about we meet up at the Waffle House right off the Highway? The one next to Days Inn?” I said reaching up and without thinking about it I started to twirl some loose strands of my hair around my finger.

I heard Jasmine starting to sigh on the other end of the phone. I'm sure she was pressing her fingers to her forehead right now, doing her best to try to think of somewhere else to go. But if I'm honest. The local Waffle House was really the best place to get something to eat in this town. Well not the best place to eat. But the places to eat if you were on a shoestring budget and at the moment I was having to count every penny, nickel, dime, and quarter. I was pretty much living from paycheck to paycheck like most Americans were.

“I guess. I was hoping for a good steakhouse, but because I love you, I guess a Waffle House will have to do.” She said, “I guess I will see in an hour then. My train leaves around six and I want to be at the station waiting for it. Oh, and Sunny before I end this call, what with the voice?” Jasmine asked me, it was a direct question, one I could not dance around.

I took a deep breath and peered toward the ceiling.

“I don't know, I guess I've been trying to sound more feminine lately.” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. I swallowed hard.

“Hey listen.” I said after a brief thirty second pause of pure silence. “It was just a dumb prank okay. I did mean to offend you or anything. I know you're still undergoing your changes. I just wanted to see if all that nonsense I was reading about 'Heat from fire, fire from heat' stuff I'd been reading on the internet amounted to anything. So if I offended you Jasmine I'm sorry, I'm not trying to mock you or anything.” I said quickly.

Another thirty seconds of silence passed. And then Jasmine came back on the line and in a gentle, almost motherly tone of voice asked me.

“Casper, how long have you been doing this whole 'Heat from fire, fire from heat' thing?” She asked.

“I don't know, maybe a few weeks at most, at least six weeks.”

“Oh well keep up the good work!” Jasmine said before she discounted the call.

I was left speechless as I just sat there peering up at the ceiling. Doing my best to count the little pieces of floating dust that seemed to hover around my head. I finally forced myself to take a deep breath, close my eyes and cross myself. A habit I've had since boyhood. Once I'd finished crossing myself I forced myself to stand back up and march toward the time clock. The worst part of going on break was having to force oneself to get back on the clock and resume their normal task. And so I had to force myself to stand up and shuffle toward the time clock.

To be continued. Maybe?